


what would you give for your kid fears

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, Slight Canon Divergence, Unhappy (Canon) Ending, Visions/Fantasies, unrequited love (but not really)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Pennywise gives Richie what he's always wanted, for a price.





	what would you give for your kid fears

**Author's Note:**

> 'kid fears' by indigo girls came on and I had to come back with some Sadness(TM). this isn't quite what I wanted to write, but I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out all the same! prepare yourself for the sadness, y'all. 
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing as always!! 
> 
> enjoy!

The deadlights hit Richie like a sucker punch; his jaw goes slack and he can, for just a moment, feel his feet lifting off the ground. After that, all he knows is light. Bright, blinding, unyielding light. He wants to blink but the light never wavers. He can’t move; he’s painfully aware of his arms limp at his sides. _Is this what it was like for Beverly?_ He wonders.

** _“Richie.”_ **

He tries to turn to chase the voice, a familiar and chilling rasp, but he still can’t move. It’s the same voice that lured him into that fucking clown funeral room at Neibolt. It’s almost like Eddie’s voice, but not quite. 

**_“Oh,” _**the voice coos. **_“You want to get back to your friends, don’tcha?”_** A giggle, distorted and disturbing. **_“I’ll cut you a deal, Richie.”_**

Richie can’t respond but it doesn’t matter. The deadlights, or Pennywise, or whatever—they keep talking. Drawling and taunting and giddy.

**_“I can give you a taste of what you’ve wanted for so long...You’ve wanted him for so long, haven’t you Richie?”_** More laughter except this time it echoes like gunshots in a small room, buzzing inside Richie’s skull. **_“You know you can’t win. You and your little friends are beat. You know it, so why not have a little taste of something nice?” _**

Richie can’t make his mouth move. He can barely think. Vaguely, he feels like he’s being dragged under water. It’s as if his lungs are filling up and if he could, he would cough and gasp for air.

**_“Say yes, Richie, and I’ll make your dirty little secret a reality.”_** The voice sounds hungry. Delighted. Richie can’t deny that he’s curious, he’s always fucking curious, but he’s so fucking scared. **_“Say yes, Richie. Have a little fun before I rip you to pieces.”_**

And then everything goes black.

Richie sits up with a start, eyes scanning the room worriedly. He’s in a bedroom he doesn’t recognize and the sheets against his skin are unfamiliar and panic is rising in his chest, or maybe it’s bile, _fuck I’m going to barf._

“Another nightmare?” Comes a gentle, sleep-heavy voice beside him. Hands stroke over his shoulders and one presses to his chest. Lips, dry on the side of his neck, words vibrating against his skin. “C’mon, Rich, it’s okay. Everything is okay.”

Richie turns and Eddie looks up, giving him a wide, beautiful smile.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs. He brings a hand up to stroke at Richie’s unruly curls. 

“Sorry for waking you,” Richie says, except it’s not him, because all he can think is _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_ but it’s like he’s still disconnected from his body. 

“It happens,” Eddie says knowingly, and somehow Richie knows too. It does happen, sometimes. Sometimes Richie wakes up in a cold sweat over a nightmare and other times Eddie wakes up screaming about lepers. Sometimes they kick each other out of bed on accident and other times they wake up crushed together, clinging to one another for some kind of comfort. _It happens_. 

Eddie keeps talking and Richie watches his lips move. “You can always make it up to me, Trashmouth.”

Eddie lays back down; his hair is longer and fans across the pillow case. It’s then that Richie realizes they’re both naked, and Eddie’s chest is already littered in lovebites, and there’s a throbbing inside Richie that’s as familiar as it is daunting. He’s not sore when he moves, though, not like he’s been any other time someone fucked him.

_Because this isn’t real,_ he thinks. _None of this is real._

Still, he rolls over and pins Eddie to the bed. Or his body does, or whatever this is. He kisses Eddie and even as his eyes slip shut, Richie can still see everything. It’s like an out of body experience except the experience is a porno, starring him.

And Eddie.

Eddie who hooks a leg over Richie’s hip to urge him closer. Eddie who kisses surprisingly sloppy for someone so concerned with germs. Eddie who’s yanking at Richie’s hair in a way that Richie himself knows he fucking _melts_ for. 

Richie watches as the scene plays out before him: confident, wandering hands and shuddering, wet moans. Bodies writhing and thrusting against each other; Eddie’s toes curling in the sheets and Richie slamming his hand against the headboard with a shout of pleasure. 

When it’s over, Richie falls onto Eddie with an exaggerated _oof_. Eddie shoves playfully at him.

“I need to shower,” Eddie grumbles as Richie finally rolls off of him. The vision shifts, and suddenly Richie is seeing everything from his own eyes again. He watches as Eddie, stomach and thighs splattered with come, climbs out of bed and heads toward the bathroom. “And no,” Eddie says over his shoulder. “You can’t join me.” It’s said with a wink, which makes Richie think maybe it’s really an invitation.

He doesn’t take it—or whatever version of himself this is doesn’t take it. He rolls out of bed and pulls on some sweats and leaves the bedroom. He looks at the pictures lining the hall: Ben and Beverly’s wedding, Bill and Audra’s son in a soccer uniform, Mike with Richie and Eddie at their wedding.

_Their wedding._

Richie stares at the next picture: him and Eddie at the altar. Richie’s suit is baby blue, almost tacky he thinks, but somehow fitting. Eddie is in a soft slate gray, and his tie matches the blue of Richie’s tux. It’s gentle and well-coordinated and Richie wonders how much arguing it took to convince Eddie to let Richie go without a tie at all. He looks pretty good, pale gray shirt unbuttoned until the dips of his collarbones are on display. 

“Surprised you didn’t join me,” Eddie says, creeping up behind Richie and plastering his chest to Richie’s back. He hums and follows Richie’s eyes the to the photograph. “We looked so good there.”

“You still look good,” Richie replies immediately. It’s still like his brain is disconnected from his mouth, but it’s true. They’re older now, with more wrinkles and crow’s feet. They don’t move as swiftly or as quick but he loves Eddie just as much as he did when they were baby-faced, dipshit kids. “You always look good.”

Eddie laughs softly. “C’mon, you sap, let’s make breakfast.” 

Richie lets Eddie lead him downstairs to the kitchen. With each step, another memory floods Richie’s thoughts.

_They reconnected in college, at a frat party. Eddie was threatening to call the RA and Richie talking him out of it and into some making out, instead._

And—

_They’re living together and it’s too hot to be moving boxes and putting up posters but that’s what they’re doing, because Eddie wants a place that feels like a _home_ and not a jail cell._

And—

_Eddie asks Richie to marry him in Seattle. It’s pouring fucking rain even though it’s the middle of August, and they’re both drenched to the bone, and Eddie’s threatened to kill Richie at least half a dozen times in the last twenty minutes. But Eddie finally whips around on the slick sidewalk and shouts, “Marry me, asshole!” _

And—

_“I love you,” Eddie murmurs, dropping a kiss to Richie’s chest. “I’m sorry I ever forgot you.”_

And—

_“Do you want kids?” Richie asks. He’s staring intensely at a book and pretending to be interested in it while from the corner of his eyes, he watches Eddie whip around in shock. _

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice cuts through the onslaught of memories. “You with me?”

A sob wells up in Richie’s throat and he can _feel_ it. He doesn’t just know it’s happening; he can feel the sob clogging his throat and choking him. His vision is swimming from lack of oxygen and the tears in his eyes, but he can still see Eddie’s gently aged face—god, they must be fifty now, look at the gray in his hair—staring at him in shocked concern. 

Eddie’s speaking, urgent and terrified, but his voice is fading to a dull hum in Richie’s mind. He doesn’t want to go, Richie realizes suddenly. _I don’t want to leave._ He scrambles to hold Eddie. He takes him by the arms and hauls him close and whimpers; Eddie is squirming in his hold, and faintly Richie can hear him ask, _“what the fuck is happening, Richie? What’s wrong? Talk to me godddamit!” _

Richie opens his mouth to reply but a wretched roar fills his head instead, starting with a disgusting, chilling laugh:

**_“You know what?”_** The voice sounds giddy again. 

Richie knows what it’s going to say before the words echo inside his skull. He wants to scream, cry out, claw his way back to the surface of whatever hell he’s drowning in and _stop this_. But he can’t. 

In that melodic, sickeningly sweet voice, It says:

** _“I think I’ll take him instead.”_ **

Richie comes to when his back hits jagged ground. Eddie is looming over him, happy and healthy and alive right up until he’s not. His voice stops on a dime, replaced instead by the disgusting squelch of Pennywise’s claw going through his chest. Through his _heart_.

_This is my fault, _Richie thinks. Bile is climbing his throat. _This is all my fault. It should’ve been me._

Eddie falls into Richie’s arms, limp and bloody. Richie cradles him close, murmuring apologies over and over even as Eddie’s eyes go foggy and glazed. 

“No, no, no, Eds, c’mon.” Richie cups the back of his head and holds him up. “I love you, Eds, don’t go, don’t leave me now. C’mon.” His voice is trembling. “I’m sorry, Eddie, I just wanted to see what it was like.” 

Eddie’s head lolls towards Richie and he smiles. There’s blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “See what...what was like?” 

Richie chokes on a sob. “What you loving me was like.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “I’ve always...loved you Richie…” 

“Fuck.” Richie blinks. “What? Eds, what the _fuck_?”

Eddie laughs, then coughs. “I’ve always loved you, asshole.” He raises a shaking hand, skin pale and cold, and cups Richie’s cheek. “I forgot for...for a while. But I always loved you.” 

“Fuck, Eddie, don’t do this to me.” Richie swallows. “Don’t, don’t say that to me.” 

“Sorry, Richie.”

“Don’t say that either.” 

Eddie’s grin widens and his teeth are blood-stained. A few moments pass, and Eddie doesn’t say anything else.

Richie’s voice is painfully small when he speaks again. “Don’t go, Eds.”

Eddie blinks slowly. His skin is cold and clammy. His grin doesn’t fade, even as the light in his eyes does.

Richie bows his head and presses his cheek against Eddie’s. 

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he whispers against the chill. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Reluctantly, Richie stands. He drags Eddie’s body out of the way, tucked behind a bundle of rocks, and turns to where the other Losers are running at him. Pennywise is starting to lever itself off the spike. 

He swallows another sob.

He’s got a fucking clown to kill. 

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog it on tumblr!](https://punk-rock-yuppie.tumblr.com/post/187819968276/what-would-you-give-for-your-kid-fears-reddie)


End file.
